She turned, hesitated on the doorstep. She would have to go back to Grainne’s house now. She felt stomach acid rise at the back of her throat, swallowed it down. Fuck. She looked up and down the street. Dark windows, neat gardens, cars tucked into the kerb. This could be anywhere in Belfast. This could be any street in any city. Even if she wanted to get to Grainne’s, she had no idea which way to go. For a moment she saw herself turning back, trying the door. It would open smoothly and she would slip past it, back into the dark hallway. She would silently climb the stairs to the bedroom, step out of her clothes and slide into bed, curling up against Paul’s warm back, pulling the downy duvet over her and sinking into the soft mattress. Shutting her eyes and drifting away from herself. And, all night, her sleeping body would lie beside his, as if it belonged there. But the door was locked behind her. She had heard the lock click into place. Going back was not an option. She paused again at the garden gate, hand already on the latch.
